That Poor Tree
by Ariel-chan
Summary: HD Slash. Harry takes a vacation from auroring an runs into an unexpected foe. Lust ensues.


This story contains adult material between consenting male adults. Turn back if this offends you.

TITLE: That Poor Tree

PAIRING: Harry/Draco

RATING: NC-17

WORD COUNT: 2,130

Written for athenaps.

Harry Potter, The Man Who Lived (Twice), put on the big sunglasses he'd bought at Beachcombers, and propped his feet up on his lawn chair conveniently located on Chub Cay of the Berry Islands of the Bahamas, one of the smaller and more secluded islands in the area. It's claim to fame being fishing, it wasn't a huge tourist attraction.

Harry was on week three of his two month vacation. Apparently, as an auror, you could only spend so many years (in his case, four) incarcerating dark wizards without a vacation before your best friends and coworkers conspired to magically lock you out of every single Ministry building for two months. Harry thought this was bollocks. Catching Death Eaters was a vacation.

The first week and six days of his vacation had consisted of him moping around his flat and occasionally going down to the office to attempt some new way of breaking in to his workplace. The last day of the second week had ended with Ron showing up and telling him if he didn't take a break Ron would take his wand away and then Floo him to Bermuda, and Harry deciding that wasn't a bad idea.

Now, Harry was kicking back, drinking a pina colada, and only occasionally thinking about all the dark wizards he could be locking away in Azkaban.

Sipping at his drink, watching his skin slowly darken, a small scuffle off to his left interrupted the peace of the mostly-deserted beach. He turned toward the sound slowly, lazy from the sun.

Two men were having a quiet argument, obviously a lover's tiff, nearby. The first, a native islander, with smooth dark skin and long black hair, was insistently tugging the other man toward the beach, and the other was balking. As they wrestled in harsh near-whispers, Harry saw that the other man was not an islander, but a fellow outsider with albino-like blonde hair and the deeply tanned coloring of someone who had "gone native", in more ways than one. It wasn't until he pulled away from his lover with a snap that Harry recognized the shocked face of Draco Malfoy, one of the last Death Eaters Harry's department had not tracked down, staring right back at him.

Moments later, Malfoy was sprawled out on his back in the sand, Harry straddling his lower torso and patting him down, looking for his wand. "Excuse me," said the rather miffed and apparently flamingly gay island boy. "But just what are you doing with my boyfriend?"

Not having his wand with him, Harry flipped out his wallet from his swim trunks and opened it to the magical badge all aurors were required to carry in the event of capturing a fugitive in the presence of Muggles. The badge instantly transformed itself into that of the local law enforcement. "I'm an officer of the law," Harry said, still feeling Malfoy up in front of his boyfriend, "And this man is a dangerous criminal I'm taking in to custody."

"I'm not armed, officer," Draco sneered. "Now would you please get off me?" Harry grabbed the former Death Eater by the elbow and dragged him to his feet, then was at as loss as to what he should do with his prisoner. He didn't have his wand, nor did he have Muggle handcuffs. He looked around in confusion before catching the eye of Malfoy's (ex)boyfriend, who looked very put out by this whole affair.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I could get some rope?"

----

Harry took a few steps back and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, and part of him blushed severely at the knowledge that Malfoy had prior, more pleasant experiences with this rope, but he felt much better with his prisoner secured.

"God," said Malfoy. "I'm tied to a tree. I can't believe you tied me to a fucking tree, Potter. I can't believe you're camping in a tent in the Bahamas. Miles of luxury hotels with beautiful featherbeds you could tie me to, and instead you sleep in a tent on the beach. Auror work not paying very well these days?"

"My job pays great, Death Eater," Harry replied cheerfully. "It pays me in the satisfaction of capturing scum like you before you hurt innocents any longer."

"I'll have you know," said Draco. "That so-called innocent back there hurt me just as often as I hurt him, and he enjoyed every minute of it."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, actually blushing pretty thoroughly this time, and turning to build a fire pit between the tent and the tree so that neither of them would starve or freeze during the night.

"Seriously, Potter, could you at least tie me somewhere else? Or tie me sitting down? Or let me put on something other than a swim suit so that my skin isn't scraped off by tree bark?"

"Nope," said Harry calmly, piling sticks in the middle of the stone circle he'd constructed. "You'll be grateful you're tied to that tree tomorrow, when I'm gone looking for a way to transport you back home. Palm fronds are very shady." Draco muttered something inaudible, and Harry, already tired of the other boy's mouth, let it slide.

After several minutes of silence while Harry built up the future fire and straightened out his tent, Draco spoke again. "What is the almighty savior of the world doing in the Bahamas, anyway?"

"Vacationing," said Harry. "My idea of a relaxing break from work is capturing fugitive followers of the very much deceased Dark Lord. What are you doing here, hosting Tupperware parties for your friends? Oh, wait. I put them all in Azkaban."

"You're warped, Potter," Malfoy responded, sounding slightly impressed. "I'm here for the same reason as you, of course. Vacation," he smirked, sarcastic. "It's the only logical reason for me to be here, not that I was perhaps trying to escape being sent to prison for the sins of my father."

Harry snorted, and sat down in the sand in front of his tent. "Sure, Malfoy. You're an innocent little lamb," when the prisoner didn't respond, he turned toward him and tried to look curious. "So Draco Malfoy bats for the other team now? I always did think Parkinson looked more like a transvestite than a girl."

"I'm handsome, single, and rich," Malfoy replied, raising one barely-visible eyebrow. "Of course I'm gay. Don't you know anything about how the world works?"

"Sorry, no," said Harry, feeling rather pleased to have gotten his rival talking again. "I was too busy having sex with women to know."

"You don't fool me, Potter. You've never had so much as your hand up a skirt, much less anything else. If you had, the whole school would have known about it."

"I've had sex with women since school," Harry snapped, throwing another stick in the fire pit with a crack. "Lots of them. Beautiful pureblood girls that you might be marrying if you weren't such an evil, twisted little ferret."

"Ginny Weasley doesn't count as a beautiful pureblood girl, especially as you only dated her because she looked like her brother." Harry turned beet red with rage. "I doubt you've ever touched her, or anyone else for that matter, unless all of you pathetic losers up in that tower used to just have one big orgy of datelessness. I can picture it now, one big red and gold circle jerk, courage and passion flying everywhere."

"We never…," Harry faltered, having trouble talking through the anger that choked his tongue. "I would never do something like that. It's… you're disgusting."

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, almost managing to look innocent as he peered up at Harry through his long eyelashes. "Are you afraid you'd like it?"

"Regardless of what I may do in your sick fantasies," Harry said, just barely keeping his cool. "I'm not actually gay, Malfoy. That's you're problem, isn't it?" He leaned back, propping himself up with one elbow and sliding his shirt up to show off his abs with the other hand. "You want me, don't you, Malfoy? Is that why you could never think of a witty comeback when I was around? Because I don't think you're stupid. I think you're a coward, and a prick, and a bigot, and a murdering son of a bitch, but you're not stupid." He licked his lips, giving Draco a smoldering look.

Draco turned his gaze away, toward the dunes and the barely-visible lights of luxury hotels. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I don't do half-bloods."

"Really," Harry asked, his hand drifting down to unfasten his shorts. "But you do Muggles, like that boy back there? I bet I can make you rethink your decision." He pulled out his half-erect cock, stroking it once, slowly, and realizing somewhere in the back of his mind that at some point he had clearly lost control. "What do you think, Malfoy?"

"What do you expect me to do, Potter?" he asked, still turned away. "Do you want me to go get a ruler? Has it come to that, finally?"

"I expect you to look at me, Draco," he said softly, but firmly. "Look."

As though his face were pulled on an invisible wire, Draco's head turned back immediately, and his eyes focused in on Harry's cock, now standing at full attention. Amazingly calm, Harry relaxed back slightly and began slowly stroking himself again, watching Draco watch him through narrowed eyes. After a few minutes, he stopped. His lips twitched upwards when he heard the barest hint of a whimper, and he moved up onto his knees, pulling his shirt off, before getting back down to business.

"You didn't answer me," Harry said in a low, breathy voice. "What do you think?"

"… s'nice," Draco said, licking his lips.

"I bet you wish you weren't tied up now," Harry added. "I bet you wish I was fucking you." A whimper, barely louder than the one before, and Harry's hand sped up, tearing a loud moan from his chest. Draco echoed him, and he brought his other hand up to stroke his chest and abs, throwing his head back and thrusting into his hand. "I bet you wish," he muttered, voice cracking. "That you'd never left."

"Yes," Draco whispered, and Harry came, shuddering, onto the sand.

He fell back and lay still for several moments, before he heard grunting from the tree and looked up to see Malfoy pushing against his bonds, trying to get loose, and sporting a considerable hard-on through his swim trucks. "Please, Potter," he says. "Just let one hand free. Just for a moment. You can tie me right back up, I swear."

"No," said Harry. "You're a dangerous criminal and a Slytherin. I can't trust you."

"Please, Potter. Anything." Harry grabbed the back of Draco's head and yanked him as far forward as he could, then pressed their mouths together roughly for a few brief, enthusiastic minutes, before he drew back, panting, but having given as good as he got.

"Good night, Malfoy. Be sure you sleep well, as we'll have a loooong trip to make tomorrow," Harry said cheerfully, stumbling into his tent.

"Sleep deep," Draco muttered.

The next morning, when Harry stumbled outside to see if he could get some use out of his morning erection before heading back to London, he found a palm tree very lovingly tied to itself. On closer inspection, he found a note in all that rope, and managed to unbind it eventually, with the help of a sharp rock.

_"My Darling Confused Potter,_

England's Aurors clearly need more training in Muggle methods of prisoner retention. That is to say, you are crap at knots. It would improve your skills greatly if you took lessons from my former sweetheart, Palani. He may not be bright, but he knows how to tie a fisherman's knot, and untie it again backwards with his eyes closed. I hope you tell him that I am forever grateful. I'm sure he can give you a few other pointers about me while you're at it.

Anyway, enough puttering around here. The fellow in town I borrowed this pen from would probably like it back. I'm sure I'll see you around again soon.

Lovingly Yours, Draco Malfoy

P.S.- If you want my advice (and you probably don't) a fishing island is not the place for you. There is another island perfectly suited for lions that I think you would like much better."

Harry grinned, crumpled the note, and stuffed it in his pocket. It was time, as Draco had said, to stop puttering around here, and get to work. Apprehending terrifying Dark Wizards was his job, after all, and he had reason to believe the citizens of Cat Island might be in serious danger. He began to pack.


End file.
